


Bank Robber #1

by SeeMaree



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bank Robbery, Bellarke, F/M, Hostage Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeMaree/pseuds/SeeMaree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one expects to end up as a hostage on a simple trip to the bank.  Somehow Clarke isn't as frightened as she should be, and is there something familiar about these thieves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At Gun Point

Clarke likes to drop by the bank early in the afternoon. She tells herself it’s because it’s quiet, that it’s good not to wait in line. As a freelance graphic designer her schedule is whatever she chooses to make it, so if she wants to go to the bank when it’s empty that is entirely her choice.

Of course if she chooses to go while most of the tellers are taking their lunch break from 1:30 - 2:30, and that means it’s Finn who serves her, well she’s not going to complain. 

When she strolls through the door at two o’clock on a Wednesday it comes as no surprise to see that Finn is the only open teller. He’s cute and likes to flirt, although recently a wedding ring has appeared on his finger. Clarke was a bit put out when she first noticed it. The guy has made eyes at her for the last year and a half, presumably with serious girlfriend or fiance the entire time. 

It does explain why he’s never asked her out.

She did sulk about it a little, but his demeanor toward her hasn’t changed, she never asked him out either, obviously there just wasn’t that much of an attraction on her side, and he was taken all along. Clearly he’s just a charming flirt, and surely his wife knows that about him, so Clarke refuses to feel guilty when he tells her she looks pretty in yellow. 

The charming smirk leaves Finn’s face when looks at the computer. He frowns at what Clarke assumes is her account information. 

“Is there a problem?” Clarke asks. The only thing she can think of is that one of her clients bounced a check. She’s careful with her money and enjoys defying the convention of the artist with chaotic finances.

“Oh, um, I’m sure it’s nothing, let me just call Ms Sydney up here to sort this out.” It was obviously not nothing if he has to summon the manager. He refuses to meet her eyes as Diana Sydney comes out of her office and looks over his shoulder at the screen. Her mouth turns up in that perpetual fake smile that annoys Clarke so. Many things about this woman annoys Clarke. Her friendliness is so overdone, and she couples it with a patronizing attitude, as if mere mortals could never understand their own bank account. 

If it wasn’t for flirty Finn, Clarke would’ve changed banks a long time ago. 

Of course she wants to know what the drama on her account is, so she allows herself to be ushered back into the manager’s office, and braces herself for the condescension.

It seems to take an unreasonably long time for Diana to find what ever she needs to look at, but Clarke tries to be patient as the other woman taps at her keyboard. And then she widens her eyes comically. This better be good. 

“Well Ms Griffin, it seems like you…” Shouting from the main room draws both of their attention. 

A masked man bursts in waving a gun and Clarke’s stomach drops to the floor. “You’re going to pay,” he snarls, and then he notices Clarke, sitting frozen. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands angrily, and she shrinks away from him, instinctively trying to make herself look as small and nonthreatening as possible. 

She catches a glimpse of wide brown eyes that are almost frightened before he grabs her and puts the gun to her head. She tries to remember the self defense lessons her mother made her take, but nothing seems to apply, even if she was to get away from him, the shouts still coming from the main room mean he brought friends. 

“Open the safe, or I put a bullet in her head,” he snarls, and Diana Sydney hesitates, as if deciding whether Clarke’s life is worth the effort. Clarke’s loyalties abruptly reassign themselves to the robber. For all that he has a gun to her head he handles her gently, carefully. She stops trying to resist him, reasoning that the sooner he gets the contents of the safe the sooner he’ll be gone. 

The bank manager moves to leave the room but he halts her with an abrupt sound. “The one behind the painting,” he instructs, “and quickly. Or I might change my mind about who I’m putting a bullet in.” Clarke cheers inwardly as Diana pales and turns to push the painting aside. 

“I don’t keep any money in here, it’s just papers. It’s of no value to you,” she says, still delaying. Clarke wants to kick her in the shins. At this point she’s feeling fairly confident that the only person bank robber #1 will actually harm is the woman with the safe code, but she doesn’t seem to grasp that. All Clarke wants is for this to be over.

“Please,” she begs, allowing tears to form in her eyes, “I’m so scared. Please, just give him what he wants,” and Diana finally presses her thumb to the scanner and keys in a code. The door swings open and br#1 pulls Clarke around so he can see the contents. As the manager claimed it appears to contain only papers. 

“Hand them to her,” he says, and Clarke accepts the stack of manilla folders. He orders the bank manager to lie on the floor with her hands behind her head, as he backs out of the room, his arm still locked around Clarke’s waist. Gun still pressed against her temple. His two friends are waiting by the door, and she is delighted when one of them takes the papers and robber#1 shoves her away from him (still with a strangely gentle touch) and orders her back against the wall. 

As the three of them race out the door she brings her hand up to touch the spot the gun had pushed against, and remembers what he whispered in her ear before let her go. 

“Transfer to a different bank. Soon.” It could’ve some sort of weird threat. But if felt more like he was warning her. 

What was going on with her account anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke is exhausted. They’ve been at her for hours. First to question her were the police, who arrived minutes after the thieves had fled. And now she’s going over it all, for what must be the fifth time, with Special Agent Kane, who sits across from her, watching, watching. 

“Why do I need to tell you again?” she asks, knowing her tone is getting whiny, but not caring. 

He smiles politely. “I need to know the details while they’re still fresh in your mind, Now please, why were you in the manager’s office?” His eyes seem to see through her, making her feel an undefined guilt. 

“There was a problem with my account. And no, I don’t know what it was, we were interrupted before I could find out. I’m sure Ms Sydney can tell you.” 

He eyes her, and consults his notes. “Speaking of Diana Sydney, she says you begged her to cooperate. Why did you do that?” 

“Ahh, because he had a gun to my head and she was taking her time opening the safe?” It comes out uncertain, was that really the reason? She hadn’t quite believed that he would shoot her.

“So you don’t know the identity of the man who grabbed you?” 

“No! Why would you even ask that?” Her heart starts to pound, and her head feels hot. She doesn’t know him! Why would the agent even suggest that?

“Ms Sydney seemed to think he recognised you.” The agent’s eyes meet hers, cold and suspicious. 

“Oh! he did seem surprised to see me. But I thought it was because he expected the manager to be alone.” Did he recognise her? She can think about that later, when she’s not sitting in front of an FBI agent who seems to be implying that she’s a criminal. 

The worst part comes when they discover she’s an artist, and ask her if she could possibly draw what she remembered about the three men, and as she attempts to depict them she finds herself leaving the details a little less defined than they could be, and why is she doing that? But here she is, handing off a drawing that shows less than it could. 

She also doesn’t mention that one of the robbers may have been female. It probably doesn’t matter. They all wore baggy sweats, so it wasn’t for sure or anything, but something about the way the second one moved said woman to Clarke. 

She’s 100% certain that the one who grabbed her was a guy. 

When she finally makes it home it’s getting dark. 

She’s too tired to cook, so she simply takes some pickles, cheese and crackers out onto her tiny balcony.  
The balcony is the best thing about this apartment. It overlooks the river, and she can sit out here and pretend that she’s in the woods somewhere, not in a box with hundreds of other people filled boxes stacked above and below her.

Unless of course her neighbours are out on their balcony too. 

Having an intense whispered argument. 

Clarke is pretty sure they’re so focused on each other that they haven’t even noticed she’s here. She should probably give them their privacy, and go back in, but she’s had a crap day and all she wants to do is look at the river. Doesn’t she deserve that? So she bangs her chair into the table loudly. 

It does the trick. Both their heads swivel over and a look of horror crosses the girl’s face, before she turns and dashes back into the apartment. 

The guy stays where he is. 

“Sorry about that,” he says as he reaches over and picks up a bottle of beer. 

Clarke has never really spoken to them. They moved in last month, and she’s nodded and said hi as they pass in the hallway, but that’s it. 

“No problem. You and your wife’s business is nothing to do with me.”

He lets out a startled laugh. “That’s not my wife, she’s my sister. Where did you get that idea?” 

Clarke feels a bit foolish for assuming. “There’s only one name on the mailbox, and it is right next to mine.”

“Yeah, no. That’s my sister, Octavia. And I’m Bellamy.”

He reaches his hand across the gap between the balconies, and Clarke stretches her hand across the gap to take it. “I’m Clarke.” She must have been distracted these last few weeks, because she never noticed how hot he is. But now that she’s noticing? Wow. 

She looks at the beer in his other hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those would you? I need a drink after the day I’ve had.”

He picks up a second beer from beside his chair and passes it over to her. “I brought this out for O but she was too busy reaming my ass to drink any.” 

Clarke nods in thanks and lets the cool bitter liquid slide down her throat. 

She gazes out over the river, surprisingly at ease considering the stranger sitting in such close proximity. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asks, and she frowns, confused. “Your bad day,” he clarifies, “you want to talk about it?”

Why not? 

“Someone put a gun to my head and threatened to kill me,” she says, “a bank robbery I somehow ended up in the middle of. Then I got ‘interviewed’ more like interrogated, by the police and FBI for hours.”

She glances over at him to see how he’s taking this, and his eyes are wide and concerned. 

“I’m really really sorry that happened to you,” he says, sounding strangely remorseful. 

“You didn’t do it, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

He coughs a little, like he inhaled his beer. “Still. That must’ve been horrible. So I’m sorry it happened to you.”

“Thanks.”

“You going to be okay by yourself tonight? I can send my sister over to stay with you or something.” Clarke flashes to the look of horror the girl had given her. 

“I don’t think having a stranger in my apartment would help. Anyway, I’m not particularly traumatised. It felt, I don't know, maybe I’m kidding myself, but it felt like he didn’t want to hurt me. Like he was trying to be as nice to me as possible, under the circumstances.” She laughs, knowing this sounds dumb, that she shouldn’t be feeling this empathy with a criminal, but she can’t help it. 

She glances back over at him. He’s smiling widely. “I bet the gun wasn’t even loaded.” 

Clarke laughs again. “Some bank robber that would be.”  
They chat a bit more, but it has been one hell of a day, and Clarke is tired. 

“Hey,” he says, as she picks up her plate, “do you want my number? I’m sure you have other people you can call if you get nervous, but we’re right next door,” and Clarke accepts the slip of paper he passes across to her. She wants his number, but it’s not exactly related to getting frightened. 

“See you round, okay?” He gives her a dazzling grin. 

“Yeah, I hope so.” 

She falls asleep easily, thinking, not of the robbery, but of the dark intense eyes of her neighbor, and wondering whether he's thinking the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pitifully short chapter I know, but it's been a long time since I updated, so small update is better than none, right?  
> And a little bit of Bellamy here too, so hopefully that works.
> 
> As always I long to know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm who could that robber be? I'm sure no one has guessed!
> 
> Thanks for reading and please do let me know what you think.


End file.
